


I Prefer Wood to Linoleum

by Rinzler



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: ColdFlash Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinzler/pseuds/Rinzler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case of accidental time-travel results in Barry crash-landing in the middle of a domestic life he's always wanted...with the one person he never considered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Prefer Wood to Linoleum

If Barry had to pick an aspect of his powers that he could live without, he would pick his ability to travel through time without a moment’s hesitation.

It wasn’t as though time travel was a horrible power to have. It allowed Barry to say goodbye to his mother, to finally receive some peace from her death and to move on from the tragedy that had been plaguing his life from the time he turned eleven. It allowed him to catch Mark Mardon, the Weather Wizard, before he hurt Joe and Captain Singh and tried to wipe out Central City with a tidal wave.

That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been downsides- time travel was why Eobard had killed his mother in the first place, why he blew up the particle accelerator so Barry would get hit by lightning and Eobard could manipulate him into sending the other speedster back to the future. Time travel resulted in Cisco getting captured and his brother tortured, and Cold knowing Barry’s secret identity.

But none of those things really mattered to Barry.

No, the problem was that as soon as he had travelled through time on accident once, he couldn’t seem to stop.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Barry came to with the side of his face smashed into the ground so hard he could already feel bruises forming and a burning ache throughout the rest of his body that told him the time-stream, and his landing, had not gone well. He groaned and tried to lift his head from the cold, hard floor he was lying on. The smooth yet furrowed texture against his cheek told him he was probably lying on quality hardwood, likely on the main floor of a house somewhere.

Great. He had crash-landed in somebody’s home. Please, please, please, let them not be here. He really did not need to deal with some hysterical civilian right now.

Barry grit his teeth and tried to move again, managing to roll onto his back. The sudden influx of light had him screwing his eyes shut. Time travel always resulted in a temporary depletion of his powers, though in a really odd way. He didn’t need to eat to refuel, and he was never hungry afterwards. Instead, he just needed to rest for a while.

Cisco had theorized it had something to do with the ‘speed force’ that Eobard had continually referenced, some kind of invisible, undetectable energy field only speedsters could access that they could draw energy from. If Barry over-exerted his powers- for example, by travelling through time- it could overload the connection or deplete his power reserves, or both. Therefore, he’d need time to recover.

Barry took a deep breath and rolled back onto his stomach, getting his arms under him and pushing himself up onto his elbows and knees. From there, he raised a shaky hand and grabbed onto the edge of a nearby counter, slowly pulling himself to his feet.

The room swayed and spun for a moment and Barry let out a weak, pathetic moan. Okay, he had definitely travelled a bit further in time than he originally thought.

He looked up and slowly took in the room around him.

Off-white walls and dark brown hardwood floors made the already large space look even bigger. The stainless-steel refrigerator, oven, toaster and microwave told him he was standing in a kitchen, and definitely one of someone who knew how to cook. Set into one counter against the wall was a smooth, electric four-burner stove that had an array of pots and pans hanging next to it, along with a series of shelves full of cookbooks. On the other side of the stove was the biggest spice rack he’d ever seen.

Barry slowly looked around at the rest of the room.

The cabinets were all dark brown, and looked like they were made from the same wood as the floor. The amount of natural light coming in from the large windows brought out their texture, preventing them from looking flat and dull. The trim at the edge of the floor was fancy, and it matched the trim at the edge of the ceiling. The ceiling itself was…

Whoa.

At first glance the ceiling looked nothing more than an incredibly pale shade of blue, but looking closer Barry could see hundreds of tiny, miniature stars that looked like they had been hand-painted on in white over-top. The stars ranged in size and some were connected to others with thin lines, forming small patterns. Tiny words in typewriter-perfect handwriting labelled individual stars and constellations.

The overall effect was absolutely gorgeous. He wouldn’t mind staying here, living here…

Barry blinked and brought up one hand, scrubbing it roughly across his face. Nope. He needed to stop and refocus on how to get back home, not spend time daydreaming. Lowering his arm, he caught sight of someone standing in the doorway to the kitchen and whirled around to face them.

And stared back at an equally perplexed looking Leonard Snart.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first day of coldflash week. I can't actually believe I did this.  
> YOU ALL SHOULD BE SO PROUD OF YOURSELVES. MAKING ME WRITE DOMESTIC THINGS. HOW DARE YOU.


End file.
